


points underneath

by cakecakecake



Series: wanna do bad things with you [1]
Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Disfigurement, F/M, First Kiss, Headcanon, Kissing, Lizard/Human Hybrids, Making Out, POV Second Person, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: "how long has it been since somebody touched you like this?"





	points underneath

**Author's Note:**

> i've fallen into villainous hell and i can't get up
> 
> demencia is described as much more lizard-y here than she's actually depicted. 
> 
> i have guesses as to what's really under flug's paper bag but my headcanons are pretty vague right now as i'm new to the series -- i do like the idea of an accident having happened and he's suffering some serious disfigurement under there.

Demencia flings herself over the lab table and whines, kicking her feet like she's seven. "But WHY NOT?"

"Because," you huff, exasperated, "you wouldn't like it."

"How do you know?" she cants her head, knitting her thick brows together. Oh, you want to throw your beaker at her, but you won't, you won't -- 

"I just _know_ , okay?" you bark at her instead, beyond frustrated. It feels like you've denied her a hundred times, she's been nagging you all afternoon, and all you want is for her to drop it and let you be. You set the beaker in the case and pull out the mini-hat-bot you'd been trying to work on earlier. "Believe me. You wouldn't like it. Can you leave now?"

"You know Fluggy, you could just say you don't think I'm cute, it's not gonna hurt my feelings THAT much -- "

"It's not that!" You snap at her. "God, do you _ever_ actually listen to what I'm telling you?" 

She blinks at you, one of her little fangs catching her lip as she gazes back at you stupidly. She's infuriating. "W-Wha -- "

"As I just _said_ , you wouldn't like it. Just trust me. Okay? Drop it and get out of here." 

True to character, she doesn't listen. She doesn't leave. Instead, she darts over to you, wrangling the screwdriver and the miniature from your hands and seizes your wrists, pinning you with her hips against the edge of the table. You swallow thickly, her yellow eye flaring with something you've never seen as her nose nearly touches the bag over your head. 

"And _I_ said, how would you know?" she murmurs, her voice gentler than her countenance. "Try me."

She's too strong for you to wriggle from her grasp. You cant your head to the side, embarrassed, thankful she can't see you flush crimson. The scars on your face almost burn from the shame. She's always known they were there, but. 

But.

"I haven't...since the accident, I haven't..." You fumble, the mask you wear doing little to hide you. You feel like it's obvious fact, but this is Demencia and she wouldn't know obvious if it bit her on the neck. You might as well. "Demencia, no one's really seen...well, the boss has _seen_ , but, nobody's..."

"Shh, _shhhhut up_ ," she grins at you, toothily, batting her eyes. "Shut up, Flug."

Slowly, carefully, and deliberately, Demencia tugs at the edges of the brown paper, lifting it up just enough to uncover your mouth. You open your eyes, not having realized you'd shut them at all, relieved to still feel the goggles secure around your head. Demencia says nothing, just stares, her expression indecipherable. You've still got the worst parts of your face hidden, but you feel so exposed, hyper-aware of the faded cuts and discoloration on your skin. With a trembling hand, she brushes her thumb over the scars on your jaw, her sharp nails making the hairs stand on the back of your neck. It shouldn't surprise you to see a smile stretch across her face as she studies your blemishes, given her taste, but your heart leaps anyway. Her index and middle finger skim over the mar on your bottom lip, the cut that almost split it in half.

"Pretty," she mutters adoringly, her sharp tongue sliding over her even sharper canines. "You didn't tell me you were so pretty under this lousy bag, doc." 

Your chest constricts as you feel her press herself harder into you. "D...Demencia, I..."

"How long has it been," she muses, fingers tracing the shapes of the faded splotches on your cheeks, "since somebody touched you like this?"

"It...I -- I -- " you stutter, the rough patches of her hybrid skin tingling along your sensitive scars. She's making it so hard to think straight, so hard to concentrate on any sensation that isn't her touch. She leans in closer and you have to close your eyes, you can't stand looking at that wanton face she's making, she's such an _animal_ about it -- 

With almost-endearing hesitation, Demencia presses her lips tentatively against yours in a chaste, modest kiss. Their velvet softness is such a contrast to her leathery, scaly skin. It lasts only a moment, until she releases the hold on your wrists and brings her hands up to clutch at the lapels of your lab coat and push her hips forward into yours. She's so strong, her weight pleasantly crushing against you as you part your lips and allow her to initiate a deeper, hotter kiss. 

You worry a moment about her teeth, sliding your tongue across her bottom lip and she groans into your mouth appreciatively. Demencia's claws roam about your chest and down to play with the hem of your shirt and you shakily hold the back of her head, angling yourself to better explore her mouth. Her sharp tongue is a lot slimier than yours -- her saliva tastes much different than a normal human's, but it's not unpleasant -- it's much like the cherry soda and gum she'd had not long ago, if anything. You decide you like it as you keep rolling your tongue over hers. You can't help the moan from the back of your throat and you definitely enjoy the enthusiastic thrust forward of her hips into your crotch that it earns you. 

"D...Demencia..." You hear yourself say, straining to form words. Her nails graze the jagged scars along your jaw and then her lips find the juncture where it meets your ear. You moan again, skin flaring as she presses kisses against the marks that you're so ashamed of, the brush of her lashes against your skin making your pulse flutter. Her hands find your neck and rest against it, her kisses maddeningly soft. 

"Why -- do you -- hide -- such -- pretty -- scars -- ?" she murmurs between kisses, melting you with her syrupy voice. 

"I just -- thought people would be afraid," you manage to tell her honestly, eyes hazy. 

"Well I'm not people, huh?" she tells you and you almost have to smile. "I think they're amazing."

Of course she does, you think helplessly, staring confounded at your experiment. You won't let yourself cheapen the moment -- good moments with her are already so hard to come by. So you just thank her awkwardly, finding words hard for more reasons than just the obvious one. "Thanks, Dem."

"I knew I'd like it," she says like a smart-ass, winking. You groan. "You should let me take the whole bag off you next time."

"If I let you have a next time," you tease her, not sure yourself if you're joking or not. She giggles madly, seemingly satisfied. For now.


End file.
